Frosty Summer

Autumn was just about to interrupt the latest summer when this happened. That magical moment when the trees, dressed in gold or red robes, visit her sunny ballroom is an invitation to slowly strip them away. Growing up in a big city, we anticipated the pleasure of digging with our feet through the rustling carpet that would soon cover the ground. Most adults were absorbed by essential tasks after the summer break. So, we built our world and our places to live and enjoy. The time had come to move to the Autumn house. 

The tiny city park had four season houses. The Autumn house was the cosiest. It looked like an Indian tent once we had laid a bunch of sun-painted leaves on the brushwood that formed a canopy big enough for us. This weeping willow bush created a rounded ancient dome, but we insisted we lived in a shaman's marquee or a tent. Every year, the house looked different, depending on when the autumn-like mood overtook us. The first day inside was unforgettable. We invented new games, and there was enough work to do.

Then Fiona disappeared. Suddenly, just like that. We never saw her again. 

We had last seen her as we left the house one by one, running through clouds of laughter back to the stable, familiar home our parents had built for us, busy as they were. There were no shadows or exciting corners there, but proper food and a convenient room waiting patiently for us. In the Autumn house, Fiona had been playing with dolls, or rather, with her little paper creations - her parents had no financial means to buy her Barbie dolls. She drew cartoon girls in many outfits on paper, cut them out carefully, and played with them for hours alone. They had names and personalities of their own, and sometimes, Fiona spoke to them more than she did to us. It seemed strange that she was still playing with dolls in the seventh grade, but she insisted they weren't dolls and listed their names one by one. 

For a few days, we hoped she would come back, but she never did. Since she was nobody's best friend, we did not turn to anyone for help. She lived on the edge of the neighbourhood and went to a school we didn’t know. We saw that her parents, who had picked her up from time to time in the past, were now talking to other parents, not ours. We asked Lennie, the good-natured spirit of the garden if she had seen her anywhere. Lennie always climbed trees and spent most of her time in their branches. She was older than us but looked younger because she had Down syndrome. Lennie was always smiling and constantly wanted to tell us something. Once she said that if she would reach the end of the branches of one tree and wanted to reach the next one, she would weave a magic carpet out of leaves and fly over to the branches on the other side. Her understanding matched that of an eight-year-old girl, and she confidently insisted she had seen Fiona recently. 

‘Surely you mean a long time ago.’

‘No, lately, not long ago.’

‘How long?’

‘Yesterday. And the other day. The day before.’

‘Where?’

‘Everywhere. Under the trees and in the bushes.’

‘And what about the alley?’

‘I don't know.’

Over time, the garden had turned into a symphony of colours, and the memory of Fiona began to fade. We had a lot of work to do around the house, and before we knew it, we had run out of colourful leaves to renew the roof or make a blanket for the couch. At this moment, we felt it was time to consider the Winter house. We had just moved into it when the first snow came. We ran around in a dizzying circle, our wiggly noses sniffing the snowflakes and flicking our tongues to catch and swallow them - the winter air brought freshness, clarity, and hope for fresh adventures. The snow was crunching under our boots, and we watched our tracks with admiration. Finally, we built a snowman. We allocated our roles in the winter house and made a fence of icicles we had ripped off from the sleepy roofs around the park.

Shortly before the ice queen contest was held, Kalina disappeared. 

Again, Lennie claimed to have seen her and even showed us her tracks in the snow. Furthermore, she had left behind red drops of blood. Lennie said that if we did not believe her, we should ask her parents - but somehow, we didn't dare to do that. We were afraid of the truth. We filed away thoughts of what had happened like a page read once. And besides, we had Christmas presents to focus on. Winter had scattered drawings of frost on the windows everywhere we looked and spilt slippery slides on the ground. Early in the morning, on our way to school, we could see the snow glowing against the gloomy sky, the darkness only diluted by a few street lamps. The earth had hidden its fertility deep below in anticipation of spring warmth and kindness. 

Our winter house finally melted as the first migratory birds arrived. So, it was time for the Springhouse, a welcoming place, located close to the water fountain and the flowerbeds. Even if they hadn't bloomed yet, we created our own paradise of grass and flowers - the greenest and most colourful house under the Milky Way. We sheltered a few white stones as our pets - little fluffy bunnies. 

It was Mila who left us next, and we found this unbelievable and rather extraordinary. Mila was the toughest and most beautiful of all, so we always followed her will. How should we manage without her? And why is she not among us now? Many of us had turned fourteen, and we thought about what happened often this time. We looked at each other with uncertainty and sorrow, wondering who would visit the Autumn house next year and who would not. Nelly said she dreamed at night about the elephant slide, made from stone, the favourite of the youngest in the park; it was walking around in the dark and running over everyone who wasn't home yet. And Vanya said she knew for sure that snakes crawled out of the fountain at night. We shivered, saying nothing more. 

Summer came as confident and glaring as ever, bringing warmth, brightness, and exciting events. Nothing was impossible since it was the master of the universe, and we felt like that as well. We rarely stayed in the summerhouse for long, the surrounding challenges inviting us to explore them all day – every swing in the park, each backyard and small intersection were a source of surprise. So we never noticed precisely at what point Elena parted with us. She did not say goodbye but just disappeared. We still bathed in childish carelessness, knitting our vague dreams. Nobody knew what the next autumn would bring. High school, new classmates; would there be parks nearby with houses like these? 

Only after we all returned from the seaside did we see them - they were just standing near our summer house, amongst cheerful surroundings - but did not seem to notice us. Fiona, Kalina, Mila and Elena - ponytails held high, jeans ripped with vast holes, one girl leaning casually on the bench, the other with her foot on the seat. They laughed uproariously and shook their heads amidst a torrent of boyish jokes. The girls were surrounded by an invisible wall, something the rest of us did not understand yet, something we weren't privy to, outside our world and sight. 

We laughed out loud, rushed under the boisterous splashes of the fountain, soaked ourselves to the bone, and laid ourselves delightedly on the ground to dry off under the sun.